


The balancing act

by Nary



Category: The Lion in Winter (1968)
Genre: Alternate History, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Angst, Caretaking, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Baggage, Geoffrey Lives, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: "What in God's name was he doing in a tourney? Geoffrey hates tourneys!"  The messenger opened his mouth as if to answer, but Richard looked so menacing that he closed it again.  "That idiot!" he growled.  "Probably trying to impress Philip.  How badly is he injured?""Badly, your grace. They said..."  The messenger grew pale, expecting another outburst.  "They said he might not recover.  King Philip says he asks for you."
Relationships: Geoffrey Plantagenet/Philip II of France, Geoffrey Plantagenet/Richard I of England, Philip II of France/Richard I of England
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	The balancing act

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/gifts).



Richard heard the news at Poitiers and almost took the head off the messenger who delivered it. "What in God's name was he doing in a tourney? Geoffrey hates tourneys!" The messenger opened his mouth as if to answer, but Richard looked so menacing that he closed it again. "That idiot!" he growled. "Probably trying to impress Philip. How badly is he injured?"

"Badly, your grace. They said..." The messenger grew pale, expecting another outburst. "They said he might not recover. King Philip says he asks for you."

Rather than more shouting, Richard grew unsettlingly still. "Get out," he said under his breath. The messenger wasted no time in making a hasty departure.

For a moment, Richard was back at Limousin, receiving the news of Young Henry's fatal illness. His older brother had been a fool at times - everyone loved him, and he loved them back, even to his ruin. When he knew he was dying, he had begged their father for forgiveness, and, when King Henry refused to see him, expecting a trap, Young Henry died clutching his ring. He had not asked to see Richard as he lay naked and shivering and shitting his guts out. But Geoffrey had.

Maybe he should have been suspicious like his father. After all, it was Geoff, and Geoff was far more capable than simple-minded Young Henry of planning such a ruse to lure him to Paris for some unforeseen purpose. And yet... Richard couldn't forget how his father had wept after learning of Young Henry's death. He had said, "He cost me much, but I wish he had lived to cost me more." What would it cost him now to refuse Geoffrey's wish, if he truly was dying?

Richard closed his eyes and resigned himself to making the trip to Paris. If it turned out to be another of Geoff's schemes, well... he would give him reason to _wish_ he was dying instead.

* * *

Geoffrey was feverish, and Philip knew that was rarely a good sign. He had broken a leg and several ribs, and the physicians said he was bleeding internally. The fall had been a bad one to begin with, injuring his leg, and then he had been trampled by his opponent's destrier, doing yet more damage to his chest and back as he was rolled over and over beneath its hooves. He lived, but no one knew whether he would recover from such a grievous injury. Philip had barely left his side since the day it happened.

"Richard," Geoff murmured, his eyes closed, as Philip clutched his hand. He had been asking for his older brother off and on - or perhaps now, dazed as he was, he thought Philip's hand was Richard's, holding tightly to his. Philip couldn't know which, and that pained him. What good was it to be a king, he thought, not for the first time, if you couldn't save the ones you loved from suffering and dying? 

"I'm here," he said, not sure if Geoff would recognize his voice, or understand where he was. "It's me, Philip. Can you hear me?"

Geoff murmured something that Philip couldn't make out, but his fingers flexed a little. It was a sign, but whether of recovery or further decline, Philip didn't know. He held on, unable to do anything more than that.

* * *

Richard had worn out three mounts on his journey, barely stopping to rest, dozing and eating in the saddle, to cover the ground between Poitiers and Paris in five days. He had no word along the way to inform him if Geoffrey yet lived, and the thought that he might be making this trip for nothing - that the distance might have been too great, the time remaining too short, for him to reach his brother - haunted him.

When he finally reached Paris, well past dark, he made for the king's palace. It was not the entrance he would have wished to make into the city - he was worn and mud-spattered and no herald had been sent ahead to announce his arrival. The lad who emerged sleepily to take his horse barely paid him any notice. "You," Richard said, catching him by the arm before he could depart, "does the Duke of Brittany still live?"

"Yes, my lord," said the boy, puzzled but evidently having deduced that Richard was someone who was accustomed to being treated with respect. "He's alive, but he hasn't woken since the accident."

"Tend to my horse, and then fetch someone to take me to him."

The boy did as he was told, and evidently at some point word reached the palace staff that the Duke of Aquitaine and Poitiers had arrived unannounced, as a number of them emerged in a hurry to usher Richard into the palace. One hesitantly offered to bring him to rooms where he could bathe and rest and see Geoffrey in the morning, but Richard glared at him with such ferocity that he dismissed that idea at once and brought him directly to his brother's bedchamber.

Inside, there was a smell of sickness - not overpowering like the reek of a battlefield, but a scent of blood and herbs and wrongness. Philip sat beside Geoffrey's still form, coaxing a few drops of liquid into his mouth. "Drink, come on, you must have a little wine..."

Richard found that, now that he was there, he had no idea what to do. He cleared his throat, and Philip looked up, startled and yet clearly completely unsurprised to see him there. "Richard, good, you came. He's been asking for you."

"I thought he wasn't conscious at all." Richard took a step closer, seeing how thin and frail Geoffrey looked lying there, how the bandages that held the splint on his leg in place were stained with blood and pus. 

"Conscious or not," Philip said, "he's asked for you. Come closer. Sit."

Richard resisted the urge to bristle at Philip ordering him around. It was hard, but there were greater concerns right now than their petty squabbles. He sat, and Philip put Geoff's hand in his. Richard looked down at it, as if it was an unfamiliar object, not sure what to do. It felt clammy and warm. "Geoff," he said at last, not knowing if his brother could hear him or not, "it's me. It's Richard."

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, slowly, Geoff groaned and his eyes opened just a fraction of an inch. "Wh- what..." he said, his voice rusty from lack of use. Richard and Philip each leaned in closer, hanging on his words. ".... what took you so long?"

"God's wounds, you're lucky you're laid up so I can't punch you for that," Richard replied with an irritated sigh, to hide his immense relief. 

"You had us worried," Philip added. "Here, have something to drink." He held a cup of watered wine, supporting it carefully so that Geoffrey could take a few sips. "How do you feel?"

Geoffrey grimaced. "Like a horse ran over me."

Philip smiled, plainly reassured that Geoffrey was alert enough to be sarcastic. "That sounds about right. It's late, but I can call for the physicians to come examine you now that you're awake..."

"No," Geoffrey said, shaking his head faintly. "They'll just want to bleed me and purge me. Let me recover a little more before I face the doctors, I beg you." He winced as he tried and failed to sit up. Philip slid an arm under his shoulders to help him up far enough so that he could take a proper drink, not just a meagre few drops of wine. Afterwards, exhausted from even so small an effort, Geoff lay back down, pale and breathing hard.

"You're going to be alright," Richard said, as much to convince himself as to reassure Geoff. Even if his brother was awake, there was still so much that could go wrong. He didn't like the look of that broken leg, for one, and he knew all too well how infection could ravage a body even if the bones were set and wounds bandaged. "You might not dance again, though."

Geoffrey grimaced. "Is that a concern? Is there a party coming up that I should know about?" 

"Only the one to celebrate your recovery," Philip told him, stroking his sweat-damp hair. It was a loving gesture, and Richard wished that such things still came naturally to him, rather than every touch, every emotion requiring calculation and wariness. Then he realized he was still holding Geoff's hand, that they remained joined where Philip had brought them together. He tried to let go, feeling awkward at the unaccustomed intimacy, but Geoff gripped him tighter, refusing to release him so easily. He still had a stubborn strength, despite his injuries. 

"I'm not going anywhere," Richard assured him. "Do you think I rode for five days and nights to get here, only to turn around and leave again after seeing you for less than a quarter hour?"

"I wouldn't put it past you," Geoff mumbled sleepily. "You've ridden harder for a less satisfying payoff. Just ask Philip."

"Rest now," Philip told him with a faint smirk, ignoring Richard's glower. "We'll still be here when you wake up."

* * *

"How long have you been sitting here? You look exhausted." Richard looked Philip over as the king stood, stretching. Geoffrey had finally dozed off and seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

"I don't know," Philip said. "It's all a bit hazy. I haven't done very much else since the accident."

"That's closing in on two weeks," Richard said. "Don't you have a kingdom to run?"

"Don't you have a war to fight?" Philip retorted. "Sometimes terrible things happen... and some people are important enough to put everything else aside for a time. Even if you hate them."

"I don't hate him." Richard looked over at his brother's sleeping form. "I might not like him very much most of the time, but that doesn't mean I don't love him."

"Sounds familiar. Maybe you should tell him that, when he wakes up again." Philip rubbed his eyes wearily. "For now, we should both get some rest." He extended a hand to Richard, who looked at it as though it might be a poisonous snake. Philip sighed, dropping his hand to his side again. "It's not a nefarious plot, Richard. Put the past aside for the time being, or don't. But right now you're holding back sleep about as well as Canute held back the tide."

Richard weighed his options, and then realized he was weighing them and forced himself to stop the balancing act for just a moment. Instead, slowly, he reached out to take Philip's hand. "Thank you for sending for me. You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," Philip said, his voice softening.

"Because Geoffrey asked for me?"

"No," Philip told him, drawing him closer, almost shyly. "Because I don't know what I would do if he died. I think I might go mad." He rested his head against Richard's shoulder, like he had as a boy. "And no one else but you would understand why."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!


End file.
